If Only Life Were Like This
by AccioJosh
Summary: Harry Potter wakes to find his life is not as he remembers it. The mystery of how it has come to pass is only one of the questions to be answered as he explores this strange world where his parents are alive and Tom Riddle is Minister of Magic. (Eventual
1. Prologue: The Riddle House

**If Only Life Were Like This  
**_By Josh McCusker_

_A/N: This story is so unbelievably different than when it started. I will admit to being a very annoying writer when it comes to certain things. Projects like this are tedious to those trying to follow along because my mind goes through so many variations of the story that sometimes I find myself unable to complete what I originally started out with. For those of you who are returning to the story, I apologize and thank you for bearing with me. For those of you new to it, I thank you for your expected patience! As always, reviews, flames and general comments are always welcome. As I have no one beta reading for me, any mistakes are also welcome. Enjoy!_

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**Prologue  
**_The Riddle House_

The small town of Little Hangleton was in high spirits as the summer rolled across the gentle roads and homes of the small eastern town. The wealthiest family in town was throwing a huge party to celebrate the announcement of their first grandchild and, in the excitement they had invited everyone they knew to attend.

It hadn't been long ago that the village had despised the Riddle family. As of late, since their son met and wed one of the town's own, things had changed. Suddenly the Riddle family took on an air of friendliness and warmth. Their impeccably kept manor was now the center of social events for the village and many a night was spent at lavish parties thrown by the mistress of the house. No expense was spared in the wooing of the village by both the elder Mrs. Riddle and the younger, and the town was all the better for it.

This particular party was expected to be the event to top all previous parties. One of the younger maids, less tight-lipped about the affairs of the family and house Riddle let slip that the house had already been decked to the nines with the most expensive décor and it was believed that Mr. Riddle had even gone to the extreme of hiring a fireworks display.

The more that time weaved its merry tapestry, the more the stories grew.

There was only one person who seemed less thrilled about the party than the rest of the village; Mr. Frank Bryce was not a social gentleman. His wife was the only exception to this, as after the war he had taken to himself and kept his life confined to the estate where he worked. It so happened to be that Frank was the gardener at the Riddle House, and his only thoughts on the party were how much damage would be done to the gardens.

Today he was tying up some of the more delicate of the bushes and flowers, trying his best to have them looking presentable whilst being able to withstand the traffic of the entire village. Muttering to himself as he worked, even he couldn't darken the mood today. The sun itself seemed determined to shine especially bright on the manor, and the newly painted white clapboards gave the house such a warm glow as to make everyone feel that much more excited.

It was this reason why there was a minor shock when the front door to the manor, an elegantly stained heavy wooden door with ornate carvings and a gold knocker, was thrust open so violently that the crack of it hitting the interior wall echoed through the gardens and even caused Frank Bryce to look up. He quickly averted his gaze as he saw the lady of the house coming out, tears streaming down her beautiful young face.

"Tom, please, you don't understand," she pleaded as she turned to face someone inside the house. She was pulling a white handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at the tears as she spoke. "It's not what you think –"

"Do not speak of it. Never speak of it again, my lady." Tom's voice was almost as cold as the look upon his face as he emerged into the sunlight. His countenance was so contrast to the day that it seemed almost horribly coincidental that a cloud chose this moment to cover the sun's light and cast shadow on the whole of Little Hangleton. A single tear shed from his eye and he ignored it as he continued. "What you speak of is heresy and I will have nothing to do with it. Leave this place and never return."

Before the lady could speak further, he stepped backward into the house and closed the door with a very permanent snap of the lock.

The lady, who was dressed in a very elegant white dress, turned and began to head towards the road still trying to restrain the tears with her handkerchief.

Inside the manor, Tom Riddle had broken down into a heap on the floor and looked as though his world had come to an end. The pained look on his face was so different to his stony one so recent that the man standing in the shadow in the parlor almost wondered if his mission could be any easier. As if taking the nearly silent sobbing of his target as a sign, he stepped forward into the light of the foyer and aimed his wand at the desperate man before him.

"Tom Riddle," he announced, shocking the young man into attention and ending the sobbing.

"Who the bloody hell are you," Tom said quickly, standing and looking for all the world like he wished the man before him would kill him.

"My name is unimportant, Mr. Riddle. What I have come for is most dire, however. If you would please come with me and sit, I will explain everything." Tom looked for a moment like he wouldn't follow, but he did so and sat in a chair by the hollow fireplace. He looked ready to speak, but the white-blond man cut him off. "Mr. Riddle, you have just set into action a series of events that will lead to a long, angry war. Due to your prejudice, your son will grow to hate you and all your kind. His hatred will burgeon into a nearly insane desire to eliminate all muggles. I have come to stop this from happening."

Tom had heard so much today that was contrary to everything he'd been taught as a child, and the idea that this man was from the future only seemed to follow along with everything so well that he didn't even raise his eyebrows at the notion. Instead, he smiled and looked at the portrait of his mother that sat on the mantle, wishing for all the world that the elder Riddles were not in London at that moment.

"Has the whole world gone insane?" he asked no one in particular. "I'm sorry, sir, but I find this all rather hard to imagine." He looked down into the man's icy grey eyes and continued. "You come at a very inopportune time, and I believe it would be best if you leave." He made to stand, as if to show him out, but the blond man pointed the wand at him again and said something under his breath. A cool sensation flooded over his body and he realized he couldn't move. It wasn't quite like being frozen, but he was paralyzed none the less.

"Mr. Riddle, your wife is going to die during childbirth. Witch or not, she will not be able to care for your son. Because of your refusal to honor your wife and son, he will grow to hate you and resent you. He will murder hundreds of people and, most importantly, all of my friends. I have studied years and gone through many hardships to be able to come here, and if you believe I will leave without succeeding, you are very much mistaken."

The man's voice was set, even and controlled and Tom recognized someone of breeding instantly, being one himself. He found that he could indeed speak, and so he did. "Sir, you are obviously of breeding and must understand. My family would never be respected if it were to come out that my wife was a practicing worshipper of the devil. We would be cast out from society and scorned for our embracing her wicked ways. Her child is nothing more than the result of a spell she cast over me to steal our fortune and recruit us into her cult. I cannot –"

"Mr. Riddle, do not be so seriously misinformed. Your wife is not a worshipper of the devil, nor has she cast any sort of love spell on you; they are illegal and she would have been arrested immediately had it been discovered."

"How could you know? Are you also a witch?"

"No sir, I am a wizard. I am also an Auror, which is the equivalent of one of your police, and thus I know quite a lot about our laws." The man seemed to recognize the look of disbelief on Tom's face, for he answered a blossoming question before it was raised. "Yes, we have laws of our own. Our society is quite better than yours in a lot of respects, though not entirely dissimilar. The only true difference between muggles and wizards and witches is that we are magical and you are not."

The man stood and began to pace, speaking as he walked the length of the room. "Your knowledge of our kind is distorted by a history that is falsified by men who knew nothing of the truth and wished only to further their own goals. Most of us do not worship the devil, though I will not deny that some of us have no belief in your gods either. As with your kind, ours is quite diverse on the matter and thus it is up to an individual to make their own conclusions. Your wife is quite a powerful witch from a very prominent family. You are quite lucky to have gained her affections, and I would say that turning her out before evening understanding the situation was quite barbaric and ungentlemanly of you." Tom snorted and the man cast a menacing gaze at him. "She may be a witch, sir, but she is also a lady."

The man sat back in the chair and gave Tom such a heartfelt gaze that it wasn't a surprise when he spoke continued in a softer, more honest tone. "I grew up believing that you lot were pathetic and cruel, ignorant and worth less than cattle. Your son would see you all burned or enslaved, and the world rid of you. I have come to believe that we are actually quite the same, and that even our magic is not so different than your technology. That even the most ignorant muggle is worth something to us. It has taken me a long time to come to my senses, but I cannot afford you that time yourself. It is most important that you rectify this with your wife and care for your son. You must raise him properly, for he will be one of the most powerful wizards in all of history. It is you who decides whether he will be a good or bad one."

Tom looked taken aback and uncertain, but there was something in his eyes that gave the impression that not all had been lost on him. The blond man seemed to relax a little and released the muggle from his bind.

"We have a lot to discuss and you have a lot of questions. Let us get comfortable." With a flick of his wand, a tea set appeared on the coffee table, silver platter and delicate china more elegant than that which Tom's mother used for the best company. The steam coming from the pot was giving off a rich smell and teasing Tom's senses. Another flick brought cakes and crumpets and Tom barely blinked when another flick brought richly woven linens. "Do eat up," the man said, settling back in his chair with a grin.


	2. Chapter One: The Dursleys

**If Only Life Were Like This**  
_by Josh McCusker_

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**Chapter One**

_The Dursleys_

The streets of Little Whinging were sullen and dark in the lazy heat of the summer evening. The only moving being appeared to be a dark-haired cat that was sitting on the garden wall of Number Four, seemingly watching the house. Being nearly one in the morning, all the houses but this one were dark. On the second floor of the house, in the back, one light was still burning. This was not the only thing strange about Number Four, for it was also the only house on the block that seemed to be attracting owls to it.

Inside the lit room of Number Four, a teenaged boy sat at his desk staring out of the window at the night sky. The open window allowed a slight breeze to caress his face, but he still sat with sweat beading on his forehead. Naked from the waist up, Harry Potter was desperately trying to concentrate on his homework, but the heat kept him from it nearly as well as Ron could with a game of Wizard's Chess.

Just as he was about to bring his quill back to the parchment, Harry saw the owls coming through the night sky and stood up, a smile brightening his otherwise dark face. It wasn't long ago that Harry had hated his birthdays, but in the last few years he had come to anticipate them as much as any other teenaged boy.

Four owls burst through his window and landed on the desk. Each seemed to be fighting to be first to deliver their respective packages, but Harry went immediately to his own owl Hedwig. Tied to her leg was a package that seemed to be from Hermione, her neat scrawl decorating an elaborately wrapped gift. As he removed it, he put it on his bed and began the task of removing the larger, brown-paper wrapped one from the small, baseball-sized owl called Pigwidgeon. Terribly excited to have been relieved of his delivery, Pig began to flutter around the room rather loudly and making Harry quite glad that he'd put up a silencing charm the moment midnight had struck.

The third owl was obviously a Hogwarts owl, carrying a package he guessed was from Hagrid and his annual Hogwarts letter. The fourth owl however was quite strange and unexpected. Suddenly worried that the Ministry didn't follow the concept of midnight as the determining factor of his coming of age, Harry was glad to see that the package attached to the bird was personal.

When he'd removed it, the elegant owl took off immediately and disappeared into the night sky. Intrigued, Harry made to open this one first.

Once done, he was surprised to find an ornately decorated ring and a note:

_Harry,_

_This is in hopes that everything goes as it should. Please accept it and remember that I loved you once and hope to love you forever more. Please put it on and remember._

The note was unsigned, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that it might be from Ginny. He had believed she was over her crush on him, but it was possible she would still have some sort of feelings. This thought only lasted a moment before he realized that her present would be with the Weasleys' other gifts and that she could never afford such a ring.

Further interested, he began to study the ring even more and noticed some strange markings on the band, but it was otherwise completely unmarked.

Though he thought he should speak with someone first, something made him feel that this ring was not meant to cause harm. Before he could second guess himself, he had put it on his right-hand ring finger. Immediately he saw it glow bright blue and felt warmth spread up his arm and throughout his entire body. No pain or other danger signs came however, so he imagined he hadn't misjudged.

Admiring the ring for but a moment, Harry soon moved on to his other gifts, resigned to trying to find out who the giver of this ornate gift was later. Hermione had sent him a box of Honeyduke's Chocolates and a muggle book called 'Dealing with Death by Dr. Johan Michaelson, PHD'. Included was a small note:

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! I expect Ron will tell you about this as well, but I've received a letter inviting me to come to the burrow the week before we leave for Hogwarts. I look forward to seeing you very much. Harry, I can't deny that I've been very worried about you this summer. I've often thought of calling you, but my parents have kept me quite busy with summer work in their office. I won't pretend that I mind the distraction._

_My mum recommended the book I've given you in light of your situation. I hope you'll find it helpful. Please don't be angry._

_See you soon!_

_Hermione_

Harry frowned and put the parchment on his desk, trying to keep his anger from swelling by distracting himself with Ron's gift. Another box of chocolates and a long note telling of his adventures during the first month of summer with no mention of anything that had happened last year gave Harry a bit of a strange sensation. He found also a few home-baked goods from Mrs. Weasley, which he was happy to have what with Aunt Petunia still on her diet kick for Dudley.

Suddenly feeling very tired, Harry patted Hedwig and made his way to the bed. Putting out the light and falling into bed felt very good, and he was asleep before he'd even removed his glasses.

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The morning seemed to come faster than Harry hoped, the sun's hot rays baking his naked chest as he lay waking in the bed. Feeling like he'd rather go back to sleep, but knowing the sun was already too high for him to stay in bed, Harry forced himself to sit up. He rubbed his eyes to try and get the sleep out, yawning and seriously considering charming the door shut and hiding in his room for the day.

After a few minutes, he reached around for his glasses and put them on, looking instinctively to Hedwig's cage to see if she had enough food. It was when he saw her cage missing that he started to wake up enough to notice the room was not as he'd left it the previous night.

Where his desk had been a chest now sat, brimming over with what appeared to be old toys of Dudley's. In place of a dresser, Harry saw more broken toys and a television. The decisive lack of his things caused Harry to jump out of bed and search for his wand. He found it under a pair of jeans and brandished it as he searched out any indications of trouble.

When nothing attacked, Harry took in a few breaths and tried to figure this out. The jeans on the floor appeared to be his, but they were his size and in good condition. Harry was used to Dudley's second-hand clothing, so anything that fit properly didn't seem right to him here at Privet Drive. Nervous, Harry pulled them on over his boxers and retrieved the tee-shirt that also seemed to be his. Now dressed, he decided nothing would answer his questions here, so he would have to go down and see if the Dursleys had an idea of what was happening.

When he yanked the door open, Harry noticed that all of the locks were missing and made a mental note of it before he bounded down the stairs. His wand still at the ready but now tucked under his tee shirt, so as not to upset his aunt and uncle, Harry entered the kitchen and found Aunt Petunia making breakfast at the stove.

"Morning Harry," she called jovially when she noticed him. Taken aback by her tone, Harry gawked at her silently. "Would you like some breakfast? I've eggs and bacon, sausages and … Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry wasn't able to bring himself to speak. In the sixteen years he'd known Aunt Petunia, Harry had never heard her sound anything like this. Something was very wrong and Harry was more scared by her smile than he was by a horde of Death Eaters.

"Harry? Your Aunt asked you a question." The voice was unmistakable, but as Harry turned his eyes on Uncle Vernon, they bulged and almost shot out of his skull. Sitting at the kitchen table were his uncle and his cousin. It wasn't so shocking that they were sitting at breakfast, but it was shocking that both of them appeared to have lost a horrible amount of weight overnight. Uncle Vernon, who had had more chins than twins the night before now looked as though he worked out on a regular basis. Dudley was still big-boned, but he was trim and well toned now, his face looking perplexed and almost – but Harry couldn't even bring himself to apply the word 'kind' to Dudley; it just wasn't possible.

"I – I'm sorry," he stumbled after a moment. Turning once again to Aunt Petunia he said shakily, "I – I'm fine." Unsure how to proceed, Harry decided to play along until he could get some answers. He figured his best bet was to get out of the house and contact Dumbledore as soon as possible.

"Well, are you up for breakfast?" Petunia asked, seemingly content with his assertion.

"Sure," he answered, putting a smile on his face.

He tried to keep his smile while his aunt served him and Dudley read the sports section while his father read the business. The whole feel of the morning routine was so surreal that Harry felt he must be dreaming, but a quick pinch under the table assured him he wasn't.

After gulping down all of the food and more than his share of orange juice, Harry had a quick thought that he should have probably been more cautious before eating this food. When he didn't die, he guessed it hadn't actually been a problem.

Standing up, he made to pick up his dishes out of habit when yet another shock came.

"Oh don't bother, Harry," his aunt said with a smile. "I'll take care of that."

"Right," he said, replacing the plate on the table. "Well, I'll just be … off then," he said cautiously.

"You're not waiting for your father?" his uncle asked from behind the paper.

"My – My what?"

"Your father, Harry," his uncle said, pulling the paper down and cocking his head. "Are you sure you're alright, boy?"

"Fine. I'm fine. No, I'll just… go. Right. See ya!" He took off down the hall and yanked open the door quickly, determined to get out of the house before they could stop him. As he flung himself through the door, he did so right into a man who had been standing there about to ring the bell. Falling to the ground on top of him, Harry panicked and tried to extract his wand so fast that he ended up hitting the man in the face.

"Harry! What on _earth_ – "

Harry immediately froze. Terrified to look, Harry wasn't surprised by what he saw when he finally did, but instead very upset. There, under him on the ground was his father. Quite alive and dusty, it was definitely James Potter.


	3. Chapter Two: Return to Hogwarts

**_If Only Life Were Like This_**__

_By Josh McCusker_

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_A/N: I'm sorry the last chapter was so short, but I was up all night and just couldn't leave the story without having even touched on Harry's transition to the new world. I am sure this one will be much longer, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as you have the start. I thank you all for your reviews! It's great to hear such nice things from everyone. Please, keep them coming! If you want a personal reply, please let me know and I'd be glad to. I am never sure if that's appropriate or not. Well, here we go..!_

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**Chapter Two**

_Return to the Potter Home_

After climbing to his feet and holding his wand steady at what appeared to be his father, Harry tried to stop the itching in his eyes by blinking several times rapidly. It didn't seem to be working however, so he tried to keep them open so as not to be surprised by any sudden movements.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry couldn't reply, but just stood there with his wand pointing. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the front door of the Dursley's was re-opened and Uncle Vernon came out to stand at his father's side.

"What's going on James? _The neighbors_," he hissed.

"I know, Vernon. Please, give us a moment. I'll take care of anyone who sees."

"I'd best – Yes I'll just…" He made to go back into the house, his mustache twitching nervously as he eyed the wand in Harry's hand. Apparently even in this madness of a world Uncle Vernon just couldn't bring himself to be completely comfortable with magic.

"You won't be going anywhere," Harry said forcibly, regaining his voice before his uncle could escape. "I want to know what the bloody hell you think you're up to?"

"What the devil do you mean, boy?" Vernon said strongly, his voice only slightly betrayed by the quaver it had adopted.

"I mean, what is this business of you being friendly and my – my father being alive?"

"Harry, where did you get that ring?" His father's question sunk in even though he knew the man was avoiding his own question. Harry did realize that the ring was still on his hand and had the sudden feeling that all of this revolved around the horrible piece of jewelry. How stupid was he to put it on without even checking for curses? "Harry, that ring looks familiar…" James' voice trailed off as a loud BANG filled the air.

Harry whirled around to see the Knight Bus sitting in all its purple, three level glory in the middle of Privet Drive. Vernon could be heard to gasp and was beginning to wheeze. "_Can they see it?_" he whispered frantically to James. It would have been comic had Harry not been in such a state of shock, for getting off of the Knight Bus was Harry's mother, followed closely by two young girls with red hair. The first of them was most definitely Ginny Weasley and the second appeared to be a younger version of his mother.

"Ginny! What are you doing here?" Harry's voice was cracking and his vision was blurred, but he tried to keep it as steady as his wand.

"Harry, what the bloody –"

"Sarah Minerva Potter! Watch your mouth!" Lily's admonition came almost as if automatically and the girl, whom Harry now took to be named Sarah, cowed under it. "Harold James Potter, you put that wand away this _instant_. You may be seventeen now, but you will _not_ go around waving your wand in front of muggles!"

"Lily," James started from behind Harry, but was cut off.

"No, I've had enough of his behavior." She turned back to Harry and even though he'd never had a mother; Harry could tell he was in for it. "Put it _away_. **_Now!_**"

Harry lowered his wand, scared but resigned to his fate. Whatever was going on, it wouldn't do to alert all of Little Whinging to it. He replaced his wand in his trouser pocket but kept his hand on it just in case.

"That's better," Lily said with a slight smirk. Stan Shunpike, whom Harry knew from previous rides on the Knight Bus, was staring at the whole scene from the bottom-most stair, his mouth agape. "I believe you're supposed to be getting the luggage, Stan," Lily reminded him softly. He seemed to come to his senses and smiled as he jumped off and ran to get Harry's luggage from where it lay next to Aunt Petunia.

Harry hadn't even heard her come out, but he was quickly making his way over to a shocked-looking Ginny. "What are you doing here? Where're Ron and Hermione?"

"I'm here with Sarah of course," Ginny said strongly. "Why else would I be here?" She had a smirk on her face, but Harry ignored it. He was looking very put-out, and she softened a little and continued. "Ron's probably snogging Hermione at the library, actually. It's the only reason he sets foot in the place, isn't it?"

Harry just looked at her as if she'd grown a set of bat ears or something and Ginny quickly looked around to see if anyone were standing behind her with a wand pointed. When she saw nothing, she just gave him an odd look and went over to Sarah, whispering something in the girl's ear.

It didn't take much to gather that Sarah was his sister. Aside from the name, Sarah Minerva Potter, she also looked exactly like Harry's mother, except that she had her father's eyes. Again Harry was reminded of how confusing it could be whilst looking at family albums in regards to parents and their kids.

"Harry," his father called, moving over to him as Stan disappeared back inside the bus, whose occupants were now all looking out with very sour expressions. "We need to talk about that ring, but we're late for your test."

"My test?"

"For your apparition license, Harry. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, right," Harry said nervously. He hadn't a clue how to apparate, and was suddenly even more nervous as memories of the Weasleys' descriptions of splinching came to mind.

"Come on, we're taking the underground." James lead Harry by the arm as the others all clambered onto the Bus and disappeared with a loud BANG. The Dursleys, who were waving to Harry and James as they walked towards Wysteria Walk and the underground station, all looked as though they might collapse the moment James and Harry were out of sight. "Now about that ring," James said sternly, his hand tightening slightly on Harry's arm. "It looks like a Malfoy ring to me."

"Malfoy?" Harry's heart sank. If Malfoy had given it to him, it was no wonder everything had gone batty. He was ready to hit himself for being so stupid when his father continued.

"You didn't tell me that things were that serious between you, Harry. You're of age, so you can make your own choices, but I really wish you'd consider your career before running off and getting married."

_Married?_ Harry was confused. Did Malfoy have a sister now too? Maybe that was the plot, he wondered. Maybe he would be married into the Malfoy family and then it would be easy for Voldemort to gain access to him. Yes, that must be it.

"You and Draco –"

"Hold on!" Harry shouted. "I'm not marrying _Draco Malfoy_!" He had stopped directly and his father had been caught short, nearly yanking off Harry's arm in his attempts to stay steady. "You think I'd marry _Malfoy_?"

"Harry," his father said with another note of concern entering his voice. "What is on with you this morning? You're acting very strangely."

"Strange? You think _I'm_ strange! You're supposed to be _dead_! How is that for strange?"

James looked taken aback, and he released Harry's arm and stepped away from his son. Pulling out his wand and aiming it at Harry, he muttered something and a blue light shot out from the tip, completely engulfing the confused teen.

His father was looking all over his body at the blue shield that seemed to now surround him. Harry could see that some places were of darker or lighter shades, but over-all it seemed to be the same everywhere.

"Well there's nothing physically wrong with you, but there is something wrong. I'm not a mental healer, so I can't account for your state of mind, but there's nothing physically wrong with that either. Harry, if that ring isn't from Malfoy, where did you get it?"

"I don't know," Harry said softly. "It came last night by a strange owl."

"And you put it on without as much as a question?"

"I – I liked it," he said feebly. Even in his mind he knew how stupid he'd been.

His father tutted and said, "We'll be late," and continued on. "Let's talk about this after your test."

"But, I – I don't know how to apparate," Harry said quietly. He was suddenly angry that someone in the Order hadn't taught him, since you'd think it would come in handy if he were surrounded by Death Eaters and needed a quick escape. He supposed Dumbledore didn't want his star puppet running off on his own, and that would be why he hadn't learned.

"Don't know? We spent months teaching you!" His father's voice was becoming raspy, and Harry could hear the strain in it. "This is too much, Harry. I don't know what is going on with you, but if this is a joke it's going too far! You're acting very strangely!" He sighed and rubbed his temple, but then looked up. "Alright, quickly, you simply point your wand – Yes, pull it out and point your wand – and concentrate on where you want to be, or whom you would like to meet. Got it?" Harry nodded. "Now just say 'Apparate' and point your wand at yourself."

Harry concentrated on Dumbledore's office as hard as he could, imagining the whirling silvery gadgets and Fawkes. He pointed his wand and shouted, "Apparate!"

A loud crack filled his ears and Harry felt like his stomach had just been shrunk to the size of a walnut. He was about to chuck up the previous night's dinner when it all stopped and he found himself rocking on his feet. He didn't know when he'd closed his eyes, but he opened them quickly and found himself in front of his father.

"Well, where did you try and go then?" he asked sharply.

"Dumbledore."

"Harry, you can't apparate onto Hogwart's grounds! You know that!" He gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. Harry had the feeling that this version of his father had put up with a lot from his son. "Let's try again. Picture somewhere else, please; let's try that playpark there, shall we?"

Harry nodded and tried again, this time picturing the playpark in his mind and casting the spell. The same loud crack and the shrunken feeling happened, but a little bit lessened this time. When he opened his eyes, which he wished he would stop closing, he found that he was in the playpark nearly a hundred feet from his father.

"Brilliant! Now back!"

So Harry apparated back and smiled despite himself. He'd learned that rather quickly!

"You're always pulling this," James said as they continued to walk briskly towards the underground. "I swear we let you spend too much time with Sirius," he added angrily. "He'll never grow up, that one."

"FUCK YOU!" Harry burst suddenly. He was so angry he'd yanked his wand back from his pocket and was aiming it right at his father. His face was so read and his breathing so heavy that James actually backed away, obviously scared. "Don't you ever fucking talk about Sirius like that!"

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Harry?"

"I don't know what's going on here," Harry started, his voice shaking with the effort of his breathing. "I don't know what you're all playing at, what game this is, but I've had enough! I won't take you mentioning my godfather! You're already using my parents against me, but not Sirius!"

"Harry, I'm not –"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Harry tried to calm himself, to think, but held his wand steady on the man pretending to be his father. Polyjuice potion? Some form of horrible spell? Maybe a potion to trick someone into thinking of people they love? The ring could be altering his vision. None of it really made much sense, but he was certain that the ring was the culprit. Suddenly determined to get rid of it, Harry shoved his wand in his armpit and made to yank the ring off. He was angered to find it wouldn't budge. He pulled as hard as he could, but it began to feel he'd have to take off his finger to remove it.

"Harry, please, let me help…" His father was moving toward him and so Harry grabbed his wand up again to aim it at him.

"You've done enough, thanks," he said coldly. "Pretending to be my father, as if I'm stupid enough to believe he could come back. I'm not a fucking _child_," he spat.

"Harry, I know. What are you on about my being dead? I'm not dead, Harry." James studied Harry for a moment, then pulled his wand from his sleeve and held it out to his son. "Here, take it if it'll make you feel better." His face was set and the wand was held handle towards Harry, so the teen took it and continued aiming his own at the man. "Listen, Harry, I don't know what this is about, but you're obviously serious. Please, let's talk about this."

"If you're my father, then what was I doing at the Dursleys?"

"Well, you go every year, don't you? To visit Dudley and have a little bit of fun with your cousin. You come home in the morning and we go off to a Quidditch match, then your mum makes your favorite –"

"Right, why would I want to hang out with Dudley? He's a great big old prat!"

"You've never had a problem with Dudley before, Harry," his father said calmly, ignoring the way Harry had raised his voice. It seemed almost like he'd stopped talking to his son and was talking to a patient now, for he was being professional, calm and direct on everything. "Listen, we're heading to London anyway. Why don't we stop at Saint Mungo's and just see one of my coworkers…"

"I don't need to go to hospital. I need to see Dumbledore," Harry stated. "We'll just have to get my apparition license and head up to Hogsmeade so we can –"

"Dumbledore's in London, Harry. You don't expect he spends the whole summer locked up at Hogwarts, do you?"

"No. But we'll go to Hogwarts and he can come to meet us." Harry was determined not to go anywhere he didn't trust. Without further comment, he set off for the Underground station and pocketed his wand before any attention might be called.

When they reached the red telephone box, his father dialed the code and announced their business. The badges were issued and the voice welcomed them as the box descended into the street. Once inside, Harry rushed them past the fountain, which was in good order even after his fight with Voldemort on this very spot just over a year ago. Something struck him as odd about this, but he continued on.

When they arrived at the security desk, Eric the guard was on duty the same as the last time Harry had come. He pulled out both wands and handed them to the man who, unusual to his normal lazy, unshaven self, raised his eyebrows that the boy had two wands.

"What business are you on at the Ministry today," he asked gruffly.

"I'm to take my apparition test," announced Harry.

"Right," he said as his eye roamed to Harry's badge. Noticing the name, he looked over immediately to Harry's father and his eyes widened as he took in the badge on the older man's chest. "Hey, you're James Potter!"

"That's what it says," James said with a smile.

"I saw you in the 1982 Quidditch World Cup! You was brilliant! The way you handle a broom!" The man was positively foaming at the mouth as he came around the desk and made to shake Harry's father's hand. "My son would kill me if I didn't get your autograph! He says there's been no one like you playing for the Cannons since! Mind?"

"Of course not." Taking a quill from his inside pocket, James signed a slip of paper that had been produced. "What's his name?"

"Tony," Eric said excitedly. "He'll bloody love me!"

"How old is the lad?"

"Nearly fourteen," he said, puffing up his chest. "Goes to Hogwarts – just got on the team as reserve chaser! I believe your boy is captain, isn't that right?" He turned to Harry as he asked this, looking for everything like he expected Harry to suddenly announce that his son was going to be put first-string. Harry simply nodded dumbly and watched as the man's face turned bright red when he got the paper back and noticed a few wizards watching the scene with sour looks.

"Right," James said. "We should get on. Don't want to be late."

"Yeah, I'll just –" He had pulled his golden rod from behind the desk and ran it over the two of them, smiling nervously as he did James. Placing the wands in the golden device Harry had seen him use before, Harry waited for his announcement. "Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use six years?" Harry nodded and he did James's. "Fourteen inches, unicorn hair core, been in use twenty-nine years?" James nodded and both wands were handed back. He slipped the two pieces of parchment back on the desk and beamed as the two of them disappeared to the lifts.

"You played Quidditch?"

"Yes," James said with a note of concern. "Joined the Cannons right after school. I was captain after three years, retired just a few seasons ago. I'm a healer now." He looked like he had just diagnosed someone as dying, but said nothing more.

Harry got into the lift when it finally arrived and announced, "Level Six." His father raised an eyebrow but said nothing as the lift jostled into movement. They stopped, as usual, at each level until six. Several witches and wizards got on and off along the way, but only one followed them onto level six; a gangly young man who, by the looks of him was also off to take his apparition test. Harry followed him with his father trailing behind him and was glad when his instincts turned out to be correct.

The office was quite large and had a waiting area as well as a few desks. There was a chalkboard floating above each of them with magical numbers writing across them. It seemed to go in line with the young wizards and witches who were rushing over to the desks during every change. Harry saw the device they received the numbers from, which upon closer inspection turned out to be just a box that spit out the parchment. Harry grabbed up his number, four-thousand twenty-two and sat at the nearest bench.

Not even ready to be nervous, having too much on his mind already, Harry simply rushed to the desk with his number above it when it came. The witch, who was wearing a monocle and a funny purple hat with a large stuffed cat on it looked at his parchment and pointed towards a door marked '7'. His father didn't follow as he entered the room, which he was glad of.

"Name," said a voice as he stepped through.

"Harry Potter."

"Right, over there, on the line boy. Right." The voice, it turned out, belonged to an elderly wizard with an unshaven face, darkened teeth that seemed to be lain haphazardly and a lined face that reminded Harry of Mad-Eye Moody. "Go ahead and tell us where you'll apparate to, then go on and return immediately."

"Er, the playpark on Wysteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey," he said nervously.

"Go on then!"

Harry thought of the same park he'd apparated to earlier in the day and cast the spell. This time, the crack was just as loud but the stomach shrinking feeling was lessened. It seemed that each time he apparated, it got a little easier. When he opened his eyes on the playpark, Harry smiled to himself and then thought of the office from which he'd just come. Casting the spell again, Harry tried to keep his eyes open this time. He nearly succeeded, but a gust of air made him close them at the last minute. This time he opened them slowly, scared he'd done it wrong and left his legs behind.

When he opened them on the same ugly face, took a step forward and wiggled his toes to be sure everything was there, he smiled brightly. Since he'd been so angry before, scared when his father taught him, it hadn't seemed quite as scary until he'd had a chance to think of what he was doing.

"Well done! Pass. Now get out of here."

Harry did just that, leaving the office in a hurry and excited to share his news with Ron. When he excited the office to see his father standing anxiously near the bench where he'd sat, he remembered what was going on and frowned.

"Let's go," he said roughly, leading his father to the lifts.

* * *

When they arrived in the entrance to the Ministry, Harry immediately pointed his wand at himself, thought of the gates of Hogwarts and apparated. He didn't wait for his father or even care if he came along since he was quite determined that even if the rest of the world was in on this, Dumbledore certainly wouldn't be, nor would anyone at Hogwarts.

Harry arrived quickly, but his stomach ached as he began to march up the drive. He figured the longer the journey, the more affect it had on a person.

When he arrived at the door, which took a considerable amount of time without the aide of the carriages, Harry opened it and headed right up to the Gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. Without so much as a thought, Harry sat down in the middle of the hall and waited.

After a half an hour, his father appeared short of breath and stood with his hands on his knees, looking for all the world like he'd run the whole way. Harry rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his hand while they waited.

It wasn't but fifteen more minutes when Filch rounded the corner and got the look of a man possessed as he rushed over to them. Mrs. Norris followed behind him like a shadow.

"What are you two doing here?"

"Waiting for the headmaster," Harry said without a hint of fear of the groundskeeper. Filch didn't seem to take well to this, but he didn't comment. "I suppose you'll go and get him for us?"

"Harry! Don't speak to Mr. Filch that way!"

"Don't tell me what to do," Harry said quickly, standing up and aiming his wand at the imposter. "You're not my bloody father!"

James just shook his head and said more quietly, "If you would please, Mr. Filch. We need Professor Dumbledore here to settle some things."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter," Filch said with his idea of a smile. Harry nearly groaned; of course Filch would be in on it – anything to get him the right to torture students. Voldemort would obviously allow him that pleasure. "Might'nt you be more comfortable in the Great Hall? Or one of the guest rooms?"

"We'll wait here," Harry replied tersely.

"Fine, fine," Filch said with a nasty tone. He muttered to himself as he walked off, Mrs. Norris giving Harry a baleful look before following.

After another forty minutes, Harry turned to find Professor Dumbledore coming along the corridor with – Harry almost passed out when he saw who it was, his stomach doing a worse lurch than when he'd apparated. Striding alongside Dumbledore in a black, pin-striped cloak with a well-pressed suit underneath and a dark head of hair atop his warm skin was what could only be an older version of the boy Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets.

Seeing Voldemort in the flesh had scared Harry, seeing him in this disguise, one that made him seem almost normal was far worse. It certainly didn't give him the warm fuzzies that he was walking with Dumbledore in a seemingly friendly manner.

"James, how good to see you," Tom Riddle said jovially. "Albus told me that you and your son were here to visit the headmaster and, as I was with him, I just had to come." They grasped hands firmly and shook like they were old friends. Harry felt like he'd be sick.

"Harry my boy, what can I do for you," Dumbledore said with a concerned look on his face. Harry felt a warm spread through his mind for a moment and realized that the headmaster was performing Occlumency. With a quick bit of concentration, Harry stopped him and put up his guards. The last year had given him time to learn his lesson on this matter, and even the greatest wizard in the land couldn't get into Harry's mind if he didn't want him to. Dumbledore gave a startled look, but only in his eyes. Neither Tom nor James noticed anything. "Shall we go up to my office?"


	4. Chapter Three: Changes

**_If Only Life Were Like This  
_**_By Josh McCusker_

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_A/N: Thank you again for all of your reviews! It's so great to hear your ideas and theories ;o) There was apparently a bit of confusion on the last chapter, however. To make it clear, Tom Riddle is there to see **James**, not Harry. Other than that, it seems like things are getting across rather well. Sorry for the delay in the next chapter, but I had an emergency trip to __Florida__ to help a friend with his sick mother. Now that I'm back, I hope to get things updating more frequently ;o)_

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**Chapter Three**

_Changes_

Harry tried not to feel smug as he rode the spiraling stair up to Dumbledore's office. For the first time since he'd come to Hogwarts, Harry felt like he was actually in control, and that he knew as much as the Headmaster. It felt good to be in control of himself and it was something he hoped to hold on to. He tried not to think that he owed this bit of triumph to Snape of all people. That he could worry about later.

"Well," Dumbledore said as they all settled into chairs in front of his desk. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, young Harry?"

Tom Riddle, whom Harry was keeping a close eye on, was currently smiling warmly and awaiting Harry's response just as the Headmaster was. If Harry didn't know him better, he might actually believe Tom was just a benevolent Minister there to visit his father.

"This isn't right," Harry announced tactlessly. There was no time for tact he told himself. "This whole… situation. Things aren't as they should be."

"What do you mean, dear boy?" Tom's face looked pleasant, but confused – genuinely confused. Harry stumbled for a moment, suddenly caught off-guard. "I haven't been informed of any improper magic taking place. Albus? Have you noticed anything?" Tom was looking to the Headmaster as if they were old friends, causing Harry to worry that this wasn't a dream or a charade, but something real. Was his father really sitting next to him?

Shaking his head to clear the doubts creeping into it, Harry continued. "Professor, surely you must know." Harry thought suddenly back to the Headmaster's attempt to use Occlumency on him and wondered, his thoughts losing their coherency.

When he didn't say anything for another minute, the three men shifted in their chairs and Riddle made to continue. Dumbledore cut him off: "Maybe I should speak with young Harry alone. Why don't you two go down to the trophy room and catch up?" With polite nods and concerned glances at Harry, the two men disappeared. For a few minutes, Harry and Dumbledore sat in silence while Harry pondered the events of the morning and tried to make it all make sense.

"Harry," the Headmaster started. "I suppose I should be blunt with you. I've never had a student, in my history as both professor and headmaster, whom was able to recognize and deflect my attempts at Occlumency." There was a twinkle in his eye, something Harry nearly recognized from his own version of Dumbledore as he continued. "You, though a bright young man with many talents, are not well-known for advanced studies offered to seventh years."

"Everything's changed," Harry said dumbly, his brain still on overload.

"How so?"

"Riddle – he hates muggles. He wants them all dead. He killed my parents and has tried to kill me every year since I've come to Hogwarts. He – he – I fell into his trap and – Sirius…"

"Sirius Black? He's your godfather, I believe. Did the Minister also kill your godfather?"

Harry would have thought he was being facetious, but he could tell that he was asking a serious question. Harry nodded.

After a few moments more thought, he continued. "You do seem very different. Even your appearance seems somewhat off, though I admit I wouldn't have noticed had you not said anything. My boy, what –"

"Potter!"

The door had slammed open and Draco Malfoy was standing there looking for the entire world as if he'd just flown across England, landed in a puddle of mud and fought with a Hippogriff to get there. Harry had never seen the Slytherin looking so distraught or off-guard and it only added to the sudden despair he was beginning to feel.

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, standing up and making to come around his desk. "What are you –"

"Oh shut up!" He rushed over to Harry and grabbed up his right hand, pulling it to his face and staring at the ring on Harry's finger. "I _knew_ it! It **was** you! You bloody fuck!"

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry's sneer and his response came so automatically that he felt himself coming to, righting his thoughts and suddenly sane. At least something hadn't changed.

"You did this! You changed everything! My mum! She's bloody _nice_ and she _hugged_ me! And my father is dead!" He looked like he was going to pull out his wand and curse Harry into next week; Harry almost kissed him. "You fucking bastard! You killed my father!"

Harry stood up and yanked his hand out of Malfoy's. "I didn't kill your father, you slimy Slytherin prick! I –"

"I suppose you think that's funny, do you?" Harry's eyebrow arched, so Malfoy continued. "You must know I'm not a Slytherin here. You made me a – a – Fuck! You made me a fucking _Hufflepuff_!"

Harry felt it emerge before he could control himself; he laughed. It started off slow, stifled; Harry tried to hold on to his anger, but it grew into a guffaw and then he was bent double in fits of laughter.

"Oh right!" Malfoy yelled over the laughter, his face red to the roots of his hair. "Laugh! Fine! Fuck you, Potter! You and your stupid mudblood friends think it's funny to curse me!"

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Both boys started at the sound of the Headmaster, whom they had forgotten was even there.

"I will not tolerate such foul language in my office! You will apologize to Mr. Potter at once!"

Draco stood still, staring at Dumbledore in disbelief. He looked as though he'd never thought the man would do so much as speak to him out of line. After a few minutes of silence, the Headmaster staring Draco down with only a slightly confused look, Draco nodded and turned back to Harry, his head bowed. It was so mumbled that Harry wouldn't have known what he was saying if it hadn't been ordered.

"Mr. Malfoy, when we apologize – " Harry gave Dumbledore a look and shook his head a little. Dumbledore got the hint, even though Harry couldn't figure out why he'd given it, and stopped.

"So wait," Harry said suddenly, realization dawning. His gaze went immediately to Malfoy's hand and he saw what he'd expected. "You know too!"

"Bit thick, aren't we Potter?" Draco's scowl looked so normal that Harry almost cried. "Took you this long to figure out that I was raving about changes and you only now connect it with the rings?" Malfoy had seen his own ring. "Let me guess; a letter? 'Wear this and remember'?" he quoted. Harry only nodded. "Bloody hell," Malfoy intoned, shaking his head and sighing. "I should have known _you_ couldn't be behind this."

"Boys, I think it is time for an explanation," the Headmaster said, indicating the chairs for them to sit in. Harry began the tale, telling all about Voldemort killing his parents, the Order, everything. Malfoy stayed pretty quite, smirking at certain moments and making nasty faces at others. When Harry finished, Dumbledore looked as though he'd swallowed another foul version of Bertie Bott's beans.

"Well, that's quite a story," he said finally. Harry was struck with just how pathetic this sounded after what he'd been told and was suddenly quite angry. "Things are quite different here, of course." He smiled, his eyes twinkling; both boys glared at him. "Well, yes, it seems our questions might be answered if we bring in the Minister and your father and see if we can find out how this happened."

Dumbledore stood and moved away, out of the room. When they were alone, Malfoy stood up and began to pace back and forth. Harry sat trying to ignore him.

"Must you do that?"

"It keeps me sane, Potter. Otherwise I'd be forced to kill you."

"Go ahead and try, Malfoy."

They glared at one another for a few moments before Malfoy's face lost its edges. "Did your letter – I mean, was there anything about…"

The question hung in the air while Harry tried to remember his letter. Sometimes even Harry knew he could be thick, but when it struck him just what Malfoy was getting at, he blushed.

"It did! Whoever is behind this is mad! Love you? I could _never_ love a filthy git like you!"

"Love me?" Harry's anger suddenly flared up. "_You_ wrote that letter!"

"Not I," Malfoy assured him, his face red. "At least, not… now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry was on his feet now, his hand on his wand. Malfoy hadn't even noticed as he was currently busy studying the flagstones of the floor.

"My letter was written by someone claiming to be me – from the future."

"The future? What rubbish is this?"

"It said that you had died, and we'd been lovers."

"_LOVERS?_" Harry shouted. He turned to face the door, worried someone might have heard. He turned a light shade of red and said, more quietly, "Lovers? Are you insane? I hate you, Malfoy!"

"Don't get me wrong, Potter, I hate you as well. It's not like I've suddenly turned into a real Hufflepuff. That's what the letter said. You died. I loved you. I went back to make things right."

"Fucking arse," was all Harry could say. He sat heavily in his chair, wishing the Headmaster would come back and assure him this was all a dream. Harry pinched himself just in case, but when it hurt he just sighed. So Malfoy's a pouf, so what? Why did he have to bring Harry into this? _He did do it to save your life_. Harry pushed the thought aside.

"Can you take it off?"

"No."

"Me either." Malfoy sounded petulant, like a child tired of a game. "This place is horrible. My father's dead and I'm a Hufflepuff. What the hell else could go wrong?"

It was as though in a movie, when timing was everything; the door swung open and the Headmaster reentered followed closely by Harry's father. A moment later Tom Riddle came in, his pin-striped cloak and suit looking impeccable and his smile was as warm as a grandfather's. Harry felt his stomach turn over in some unrecognizable emotion. It would take him a long time to think of this man as just a man.

"My Lord!" Malfoy shouted, genuflecting suddenly at Riddle's feet. Harry nearly died. "My Lord, I knew you must be behind this! I am here to do your bidding! Just tell me what you wish – "

"What's this?" Riddle said, genuinely confused. He reached down and pulled Malfoy to his feet, looking into the boy's eyes. His face went suddenly pale and he coughed. "Draco Malfoy. My boy, I'm so sorry," he said with honest sadness. Harry was starting to feel something shatter inside him.

"Sir?"

"Your father, it's so sad. I can only imagine how you must have felt, growing up without him. I knew him, of course. He was a very good man." Malfoy looked utterly confused. "Oh, well, I daresay you look just like him. You _are_ Draco Malfoy, are you not?" Malfoy nodded. "Well then, I…" He stopped, confused, and looked to Dumbledore.

"Tom, I believe an explanation is in order." He indicated the sofas and chairs in the lounge area of the office and they all sat. Riddle looked put-off, which was apparently something he wasn't used to. "Tea anyone?"

"Oh yes," Tom said, suddenly smiling. "I would love a cup of Earl Grey with just a bit of lemon."

The Headmaster waved his wand, which appeared suddenly in his hand and was just as quickly gone, and a tea tray appeared on the coffee table. The polished silver and steaming pot of tea made it seem as if a house elf had brought it in. When the tea was served, the minister's Earl Grey, Harry's regular, Malfoy's Ginseng and Harry's father's coffee, they all settled in.

"I believe you should repeat the story to the minister, Harry."

And so he did. Throughout the story, Tom Riddle's face blanched several times, his face contorting with an array of emotions from disgust to disbelief.

"It's an outrage! I could never!" He was standing, though he seemed surprised to be. He looked around at everyone sheepishly and adjusted his tie, settling back into the sofa and returning his tea cup to its saucer. "I could never harm any muggle, let alone a wizard!"

"Tom, I don't believe Harry means to imply _you_ would do these things, but only that another version of you did."

"Well, of course," he said with a sniff. "My father is quite alive and well. I saw him just last week for tea. He's rather old of course, but then my father's family is quite known for their long lives."

"Your father's alive?" Harry remembered, for some reason, that Tom's parents should be dead. His mum at childbirth and his father later on, though he couldn't remember how Tom Senior had died. The minister simply nodded, so Harry went on. "Well, if you see him, then, you didn't grow up in an orphanage?"

"Of course not," Tom said with a laugh. "Orphanage – How drole." He laughed as if he expected everyone else to join in, but when no one did he just shaded red and went back to his tea.

"Well, can we at least be sure that this isn't some sort of dark magic?" James had been silent throughout most of the story, having only given Harry looks of concern and nervousness when his son had spoken about growing up with the Dursleys and without his parents.

"I would assume it is dark magic," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "If I performed it, it must be."

James sniggered. "You?"

"I will assure you, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said the words with only a slightly blanketed contempt, "That I am quite proficient in the dark arts. Whether my counterpart in this world was man enough to choose the right way or not – "

"Oh shut up, Malfoy," Harry spat. "Your dark lord doesn't exist here, so pull your nose out of his arse for five seconds and grow up." Malfoy just gave him a hurt expression and sulked. "So, Headmaster, if this was really put into play by some Malfoy from the future, and he went back and changed something, does that mean that this is real? What about the other events? Did they still happen?"

"I'm afraid, Harry, that you are asking questions that we wizards are still trying to answer. I believe there are even muggles who think along these lines. In fact, the Ministry of Magic even has a department with a devoted team on the matter."

"The Unspeakables, yeah," Harry said. Three pairs of eyebrows went up. "I … broke into the Ministry to save my godfather a year ago," he explained. "Botched it up, though," he said with a bit of sadness. Suddenly he asked, "Dad? Sirius?"

"What about him?" James looked perplexed, but then he seemed to acknowledge the question in light of the story he'd been told. "Yes he's perfectly fine, Harry. He and Remus are just back from their second honeymoon, actually," he said jovially.

Harry turned red, his breath caught. Sirius and Remus? Another time, he thought.

"Well, now that this is all settled, I do have a lot to do before the end of the day," Tom said suddenly, standing and grasping Dumbledore in a hug. "It was so good to see you again, Albus. Thank you for the tea." He smiled and shook James's and Malfoy's hands and left. Harry watched him until he was gone, trying to think of this man and Voldemort as separate people.

"What about me?" Malfoy asked suddenly. "My father is bloody dead. My mum is crazy and I'm a _Hufflepuff_!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you will find that being a Hufflepuff is not nearly as bad as you seem to think." Malfoy just gave the Headmaster a disbelieving glare and sulked.

"Well," James breathed, standing and indicating it was time for them to go as well. "Draco, I assume you'll come with us?"

"Why would I come with you?" His tone was so full of disgust that James actually looked shocked.

"Well I – just assumed – what with you and Harry…"

"Harry and I what? You don't think I'd seriously consider dating that troll, do you?"

"Erm – "

"I think we've been dating, Malfoy," Harry said with sudden delight. Anything that ruffled Malfoy's feathers did just right by Harry. "Seriously enough that my father thought you'd proposed."

"P-proposed? Are you mad?" Malfoy's face had paled, though one wouldn't notice unless they knew him well enough as his face was already so pale.

"Oh you've been dating for years," James said happily. "Lily and I were so glad Harry had found such a nice boy. And from such a nice family," he added. Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick; Harry was beaming.

"I'd rather date that mud—" Draco stopped, looking at the headmaster with concern. "That Hermione Granger!" He looked at everyone in turn, his eyes nearly popped out of his head, then turned and stormed out of the office. Harry was so happy he felt like the world was just perfect. His parents were alive, Sirius was alive, he had a sister and Malfoy was going to be sick! Nothing could make Harry happier.

* * *

When they arrived home, it took nearly an hour to explain everything to Lily and Sarah. Neither of them seemed to believe what was happening, but rather chose to think it was all some sort of prank. It took Harry demonstrating his knowledge of things about the Maurauders, which Lily tried to dismiss as Sirius being too open for his own good (threatening to have words with him, which seemed to be quite a serious threat from the reactions of Sarah and James), but James assured was not something even Sirius would tell Harry. When that still wasn't enough, Harry took the chance to see if the ring had also kept his physical appearance the same since the Headmaster and noted some physical differences. To his dismay, the scar was indeed still there on his forehead, which had been hidden by his rather overgrown fringe.

"It's unthinkable," Lily said quietly. "How terrible for you to have grown up so alone," she said with tears filling her eyes. "And how could Petunia be so horrible to you? She was always so…"

"Now Lily, we both know that if it weren't for your persistence she and Vernon would have ceased speaking to us the moment you met me." She didn't say anything, but Harry took that as acquiescence. "Now Harry, I don't want you thinking this means you get to slack off." There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, but Harry knew he was serious. How little they knew him. "Alright, bedtime."

"Dad!" Sarah's plea was met with stern looks that led her to a pathetic show of disdain and immediate retreat to her room.

"You too," he added.

"But dad," Harry said, not even noticing how easily the words came to him. "I'm seventeen!"

"Seventeen or twelve, you're under my roof and I say that at eleven o'clock you should be in bed! You have work in the morning."

"Work?"

"Oh," he chuckled. "Right. Well, you see you work in a muggle shop for summer hols. You know, to earn some extra cash."

"For that damned bike," Lily said with a hint of anger. "I still don't like it," she added.

"Oh Lily, he's a man now. Let him make his own mistakes."

"What bike?" Harry had no idea how he was going to put up with trying to fight for things he had never wanted in the first place.

"You wanted a bike like your godfather's," James said dismissively, apparently forgetting himself. He turned back to his wife to continue the fight, but Harry didn't stay to listen.

Smiling to himself as he trudged up the stairs, it wasn't until he was at the top that he realized he had no idea which room was his. The house itself was rather larger than the Dursleys small up and down in Little Whinging. It's layout was also quite different as it seemed to be from an older time. Harry guessed, from the paintings and framed photos on the stair and on the landing that this had been his grandparents' home. Having never met them, Harry was glad to see a painting of them watching over him. He knew it was them by the fact that his grandfather looked a lot like his own father with only a difference in hair color. It seemed that Harry and his father got their dark hair from his grandmother.

"Well boy, aren't you going to bed?" His grandfather's tone was quite stern, that of a man who was used to a sensible household, but also gentle. Harry remembered that these were the people who took in his godfather when he fled from the terrible home into which he'd been born.

"You're my grandparents, then?" They looked at him quizzically, his grandmother's gentle face filled with concern. "You see, I'm not the same Harry," he explained. It still felt a bit odd telling these things to a portrait, even though he'd lived with the Fat Lady and even Sirius's mum. Growing up muggle had always given him that slight distance. "It's a long story," he added dismissively. "Do you know which one is mine?"

"That one over there, dear," his grandmother said gently, pointing towards the door at the end of the hall to his right. It lay slightly ajar, so he nodded to the portrait and made his way to it. The framed photos were all moving and watching, some waving and others not paying attention, but Harry was suddenly too tired to concern himself with nostalgia. Apparently he'd have plenty of time to visit it.

Without even bothering with the light, Harry used the shadows to find his way to the bed, which he collapsed on. It was after he threw everything on it to the floor, rubbed his sore arm where he'd been poked by something and found his pillow half buried between the mattress and the headboard that he was finally able to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter Four: Aftermath

**_If Only Life Were Like This_**__

_By Josh McCusker_

* * *

_A/N: Your reviews are so important to me! I can't stress this enough. It keeps me inspired and makes it easier for me to give up the other things I'd want to do and keep writing. Please, keep them coming! Now, I have a few points to address:_

_No, everyone isn't gay. In this case, Draco appears to be gay and Harry isn't sure (this is addressed in this chapter), Remus and Sirius are gay and that is all. Everyone else is pretty much straight or unknown._

_FF.net doesn't allow hardcore (to my knowledge), so this will _not_ be a hardcore slash story. I can write alternate scenes and link you to them if I get enough of a request… Yes, this will be slash, though, and there will be more than kissing._

_Also, inspiration for my badfuture!Draco comes from Debbie of 'debbiesfics.com'. Her story Draco In Darkness inspired me a long time ago, and has re-inspired me here. Thanks again, Debbie!_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Aftermath_

The room lay dark around him, the evening sun having set and the candles all laying quiet in their holders. The manor itself seemed to lie dark most nights, a feeling that crept slowly into the man sitting by the mantle, reading a book. It had taken him a long time to find a charm that allowed for sightless reading, but Draco Malfoy was never one to give up.

_The Mysteries of Time_, by Tempus Longbeard lay open on his lap as he ran his left index finger over the words. In the light, one could see the words had taken on a ridge, or beveled shape that allowed him to feel them out. It wasn't quite in line with the word itself, but more aligned with the charm that allowed his finger to sense the words and relay them to his brain. For the reader, it seemed only as if they were reading the book normally, the words forming in their brain in the same way they do for everyone.

When the study door opened to reveal the foyer, a splash of light cascaded around the man, giving light to his poor clothes, worn from overuse and his shabby skin, paled from lack of vitamins and sunlight. His eyelids drooped from exhaustion and his face was ragged with lack of shaving, leaving him looking more like a homeless man and less like the lord of Malfoy Manor.

The house elf who had opened the door motioned wordlessly to the person silhouetted in the light of the foyer, moving aside to let her enter. Once inside, the candles all lit and bathed the room in a bright, warm, inviting light; contrast to the owner of the house.

"Hello Hermione," he said with a raspy, unused voice.

"Draco," she said stoically, her tone even with only a slight undertone of well-buried sadness.

"You're always given away by that horrible muggle perfume you wear. Why do you insist on holding on to that world?"

"Why do you insist on a complete separation? My parents are muggles, a lot of my friends are muggles. I wear perfume because it's part of my life." She sighed and sat across from Draco, her muggle skirt falling around her in a very matronly way. It had been years since she'd worn a witch's robe, and years since it had been necessary.

Draco was adorned in his dress robes, the same ones she believed he'd been wearing on _that day_. She vaguely wondered if he'd ever taken them off, which by the looks of them, the answer might have been no.

"Draco, why haven't you answered my letters?"

"Why have you come here? The fact that I didn't answer your letters should have indicated that I wished to have nothing to do with you." He reached over with a surprisingly steady hand and retrieved a bookmark, placing it in the book and closing it. She watched as he returned the book to the table with a still steady hand, causing her to have a brief lapse in concentration as she wondered how blind people were so easily able to do certain things.

"Draco, I had to come."

"No, you didn't." His tone was cutting, harsh, designed to frighten her off. He continued in the same tone, his hands now clasped together on his lap. "We're not friends, mudblood. I have no desire to have you in my home."

Hermione winced only slightly at the degrading slur, closing her eyes momentarily to control her emotions. Harry had loved him and that was enough. She had to help him through this for Harry.

"Draco, I know you loved Harry as much as – "

"If you mention that weasel, I'll be forced to kill you."

"It's not his fault that Harry died, Draco."

"It is. If he hadn't been – No, I will not relive this with you." He stood, pointing at the door and looking stern. "You will leave my house."

"No, I will not," she said with an alarmingly good impression of Narcissa on a good day. Draco cringed, nearly imperceptibly, but Hermione knew him better than he thought. "You are not going to be allowed to sit here and wither away. The elves tell me you haven't been eating or sleeping. You've spent nearly all of the past week reading books about time. It's not a wonder that Dumbledore has had to stem the Ministry's desire to monitor your activities. The Unspeakables say you're a menace, that you're allowing your grief to lead you down the wrong path."

"So that's why you've come; to warn me from meddling with time?"

"No, Draco, I've come because I'm you're friend." 

"My _friend_? I haven't got any friends, Granger. I lost all my friends during the _war_."

"I am your friend, Draco. I am. Harry – "

"NO!" Draco's scream startled Hermione so much that she found herself sitting. Draco's face was red and so filled with hurt that she nearly felt her heart leap out of her chest in a desire to hug him and tell him it was okay. "No," he said more softly, but with just as much pain. It was still too soon to talk about Harry, she determined, trying to find another tactic.

"Draco, please," she said, trying to calm him down. He was breathing heavily and his face continued to remain quite flushed. "You'll give yourself another fit," she said softly.

"'Another fit'," he parroted. "Ever since… I will not be told how to live my life." He paused, trying to catch his breath. Talking itself had become a labor for him and he had to sit to regain himself.

"You need to eat something, Draco. You can't do this to yourself."

"Why can't I? What really is left to live for? To fight for? The war is over, Voldemort is dead, Harry is dead and I plan to be as soon as I can."

Hermione could sense as he said it that it was a distraction. He was taking her small belief that he might be trying to die, one that had slowly been discounted as she noticed his new collection of books, and trying to keep her from the real story.

"You're lying," she said defiantly. "_The Mysteries of Time_, Draco? _Time and Its Many Uses? Under the Light of the Stars: A Guide to Destiny_? These are not the books the average wizard keeps in their library. Not even your father would have these in his collection. You're up to something." Her face had taken on the well-known 'Granger look' that so many fourth years had come to loathe during her time as Head Girl. It was to Draco's disadvantage that he could no longer recognize it.

"I'm not up to anything," he said calmly. Malfoys could lie like they could breathe. It was part of their lineage just as their icy-blond hair and steel-grey eyes.

"You are, and it's going to be against the law and dangerous. You can't do it alone."

"You can't stop – Hold on." Realization came over Draco's features, his lips coming into what one might call a smile, if one considered a sneer a smile.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning to find himself in strange surroundings. For the first few minutes he forgot the events of the previous day and nearly had a fit when he realized he wasn't in his room at Number Four Privet Drive. Having remembered himself, Harry searched around for the glasses that had been haphazardly discarded during the night and found them on the floor. Once he put them on, he was shocked to find himself in one of the messiest bedrooms he'd ever seen.

The room itself, he noted, was a very nice room. The house was old, but the walls were all smooth and well-kept, littered with posters here and there, most of the Quidditch teams but a few some bands and even a muggle poster for one of the local football teams. Aside from Harry's bed, there were two night tables on either side, littered with gum wrappers and chocolate frog cards as well as a luminescent muggle alarm clock. On his right, opposite the door, there was a flat surface desk with what Harry realized must be a computer. Dudley had been the owner of a few computers in his day, but most of them had been smashed before Harry had even had a chance to turn them on.

On the same desk lay several muggle books and a small TV that was aimed at the bed. Harry also saw several video cassettes and even some compact discs of bands he'd never heard of. Having been denied the right to own his own things for most of his life, he wasn't used to having the option to even listen to his own kind of music. Aunt Petunia always preferred classical music, Dudley something that involved a lot of yelling and incoherent ranting with loud noises and Uncle Vernon the quiet music of a quiet household.

To his direct right there was a nice looking armchair that appeared fairly worn, probably second-hand but still in good condition. On it was an array of muggle clothes, most of which looked as though they weren't too far from that which Harry had seen Malfoy in. The idea that Harry was anything like Malfoy bothered him.

Malfoy. Fuck. Malfoy was supposed to be Harry's boyfriend. Harry's face puckered up at the idea, and he dropped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. He realized it didn't bother him so much that Malfoy was a boy, that Harry was gay here, but just that it was Malfoy. Harry supposed he'd never really thought about it one way or the other. It wasn't like he had a lot of time to devote to staring at one boy or girl or anything, what with school, fighting Voldemort and Quidditch, he was pretty busy.

A concern for a later time, he decided, sitting back up to explore his room again.

Directly in front of him was a wardrobe that was left open with clothes spilling out of the drawers and the open doors. He shook his head and saw a Nimbus 2001 in the corner between a workbench and the wall. It was highly polished, but very well used. He could tell it was getting old, which wasn't hard for a broom in Harry's room. The workbench was obviously his wizard's area because all of his school books, his wand, quills, parchment and his cauldron and potion supplies were littered all over it. Shaking his head, he noticed a bookshelf next to it that had a lot of muggle books, some trophies and pictures and even a set of wizard's chess.

Standing up to get a closer look, he stubbed his toe as he tripped over some of the clutter on the floor and muffled a cry. Damn himself, he thought. How could he be so messy? He supposed growing up outside of the Dursleys allowed this, but it was chaos. Without even thinking, he began to pick up all of the clutter and put it where it seemed logical to go. Within ten minutes, he had the floor clear and all of the dirty laundry in the hamper next to the wardrobe.

Temporarily satisfied, he moved over and studied some of the books on the shelf; _Imajica_ and several other books by Clive Barker, the Lord of the Rings series, and several other fantasy and science fiction stories. He noticed a large collection of books by someone named Ray Bradbury and wondered at just how nice his life here must have been if he'd had time to read all of these.

_To Harry Potter, Aged 9, Hogsmeade Under-11s Quidditch League – __First Place__ (Seeker)_

_To Harry Potter, Aged 10, Hogsmeade Under-11s Quidditch League – __Second Place__ (Seeker)_

Several more trophies along the same lines lined one of the shelves. The trophies were made of gold and silver respectively and featured a floating golden or silver figurine of Harry catching the golden snitch. He smiled at how much for granted he must have taken seeing trophies with self sustained floating figures.

One of the figures in the poster above his workbench caught his eye as her hair went from bright red to shocking yellow with just a flick of her head. He'd only met one person who was able to do that, and shockingly enough it was indeed Tonks staring back at him from the _Wailing Sirens_ poster. Harry smiled and moved over closer, "Hey Tonks," he said happily.

"Wotcher Harry," she said with a sneer. "You beat anythin' up today?"

"Erm, of course not," he said sheepishly. Was he a bully here? Didn't his father tell him that he got along with Dudley?

"Right - pansy," she said with a smirk.

"So you're not an auror here?"

"Me? An auror! You hear that girls? An _auror_! Me!" The three other girls in the poster all laughed along with Tonks, yelling and throwing things at him. They began tearing up the stage they'd been photographed on and threw a lot of their equipment, laughing and yelling obscenities. Harry just decided it would be best to move on and went over to the computer, finding the on switch. He'd never even touched one, so he was somewhat curious.

As it booted up, the Windows 95 logo glowing at him cheerfully for a few minutes, Harry studied a lot of the things on this desk. Here he found a wallet, which had a picture of Draco taken from a muggle photo booth, a picture of his family that was obviously a wizard photo as the occupants had all just rushed to pose for him when the wallet was opened. When they saw it was Harry, they seemed to relax and began milling about lazily. Harry imagined it was in case he opened his wallet with muggles around. Apparently in this world, he was quite on the line with both worlds. The occupants, some of whom were now trying to sleep, were his family, Ron and Hermione and Sirius and Remus. Harry smiled to see the two older men so much changed. Here they were both as young looking as they really were, neither worn with time or separation or even the hints of war that had always lined their faces in his world.

The computer made a loud noise that seemed to indicate it was ready to go, so Harry put his wallet down and looked at it, wondering what to do. **START**, said a button in the bottom left, so Harry used the mouse to click on it. It felt weird to use, but he'd seen Dudley do it a few times and had a vague idea of what to do. Under Programs on the list that came up, Harry found a lot of names; something called Tomb Raider, Myst and a bunch of others that he also didn't know the purpose of. His background picture was of him and Draco posing in front of Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Sarah. It was actually a really cool picture and Harry couldn't help but smile. Aside from Draco being in it, it was something that he would have imagined happening if his life had been different.

"Harry?" The door opened a crack and his mum's head popped through. "Oh, you're awake. Good." As she opened the door wider, her face seemed to go completely shocked and she looked around as if she were seeing bobotuber bulbs lying around. "You cleaned your room?"

"Well, sort of," Harry said with a lop-sided grin. This wasn't what he'd call 'clean', but it was cleaner for sure.

"Brilliant," she commented. "Well, breakfast is on the table, so if you want some, you better get to it before the monsters eat it all." She smiled warmly and closed the door, leaving Harry to make up his own mind.

Taking a last glance around, Harry noted a door to the right of his wardrobe, and upon inspection found it was his own lavatory. It also was a mess and Harry was nearly sick with the idea of taking a shower in all the scum that lined the walls, so he decided a shower could be had after breakfast.

Opening up the wardrobe proved that the Harry of this world hadn't heard of the word 'organization' at any time as most of the hangers were apparently left as decorations and the clothes were just pilled up inside the doors. Finding a tee-shirt with a Weird Sisters logo, Harry put it on and found a pair of fresh underwear, socks and trousers. Once satisfied with his attire, Harry emerged on the landing.

"Good morning, Harry!" The voice came from the portrait of his grandparents where his grandmother was fanning herself and rocking in a chair.

"Morning, gram," he said uncertainly. The words were alien to him, but they felt good. She just smiled and he continued on his way downstairs.

"…Think he's going to make up with Draco? Those two are always fighting. I wish – Oh, morning Harry," his mother said, startled at his arrival. "Would you like some eggs?"

Harry nodded and turned to see his father and sister, both preoccupied with reading, shoveling food into their mouths like there was no tomorrow. "Morning," he announced, receiving only a grunt and a small, distracted smile. Sitting down at the empty plate, which was apparently his spot at the table, Harry pulled the pitcher of orange juice and poured himself a glass.

"Tom's bill seems to be doing well," James announced. "Got 60% to vote yes in the preliminary."

"The Cannons beat United again," Sarah said excitedly. "I always knew Puddlemere was worthless."

"They are not," Harry said without thinking. His only knowledge of them was that Wood was second-string, but he somehow felt he had to defend his former Quidditch captain.

"How do _you_ know," Sarah said snottily. "You've been under a rock all your life."

"Sarah," his mother started.

"Oh mum, he has no memory! How can he know?"

"That's not very nice. Be good to your brother."

Sarah just grunted and went back to her paper, which bore the title _Quidditch Daily_ and had a picture of a team flying across a pitch. Harry started drooling to get his hands on it. Here he could follow the local teams!

"Can I see that after you've finished?"

Sarah just gave him a look and nodded, continuing to shovel food into her mouth. Harry had the distinct feeling she considered him a stranger, which he supposed he was. In some ways, he thought that might be a better way to go about it, unlike his parents whom he noticed were acting as if nothing had really changed.

Harry's thoughts were disrupted when the phone rang. His mum answered, but quickly turned to look at him. "It's Draco," she said nervously.

Harry rolled his eyes, but got up from the table and grabbed up the phone. It almost felt too early to put up with Malfoy.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Fuck you, Potter. You could be a little nicer to me, seeing as I'm your boyfriend."

"Sod off, Malfoy. You're not my boyfriend."

"My mum's told me you and I have been dating for a long time, Potter. She insists I call you and make up. She thinks we're having a spat, which we apparently do often."

"No wonder with you being such a prat." Harry sighed. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Mum thinks I should invite you over."

"No."

"Oh Potter, must you be so ridiculous? Do you know who called me this morning?"

"The Prince?"

"No, Hermione Granger."

"Hermione called you?" He couldn't even hide the shock.

"Yes, Potter. The mudblood seems to think we're friends. She wasn't actually that bad to talk to. It seems her parents took her off to Egypt this summer and she was quite excited about it. She's my _best_ friend, Potter. Can you imagine?"

"Did you call to rub it in?"

"Of course," he said with an obvious grin on his face. Harry wanted to hang up the phone. "I'm coming over, Potter."

"To hell you are!"

"If nothing, we need to figure out what to do. I want to go home."

"No, I like it here."

"Of course you do, everything is in your favor. I think it was really you who did this."

"I thought I wasn't smart enough?"

"You probably had help from the mudblood."

"That's not a nice way to speak about your best friend, Malfoy."

"True, but if we get home she won't _be_ my best friend; she'll be dead."

"Why would I want to help you?" Malfoy was about to say something, but Harry continued. "Especially with you acting like that?"

"Alright, I'll call her Granger then. For Merlin's sake, you're so _Gryffindor_, Potter."

"I'm hanging up the phone, Malfoy."

"This phone thing is interesting isn't it? Imagine Malfoy Manor with a muggle phone."

"Good bye, Malfoy."

"My mother –"

Harry hung up. His mother gave him a concerned look, but Harry just decided to go back to his room, get his broom and go for a nice ride. Malfoy had the horrible knack of making him lose his appetite.

* * *

When he'd settled back on the ground, thoroughly calmed by his flight around the neighborhood, Harry made his way back up to his room. Once inside he stripped off his clothes and dumped them in the hamper. They were all soaked with sweat from his ride, the hot sun beating down on him having left him feeling slightly feverish as well as drenched. Harry grabbed up his wand and, naked, attacked the bathroom.

Luckily he had spent the better part of the first month of summer learning cleansing charms. It had been with the idea of doing his chores for the Dursleys with a lot of ease, in secret of course, leaving him with more time for himself. Now though, they just came in handy for cleaning up after a very different version of him.

Once the room was clean, Harry left his wand on the counter and stepped into the shower. He kept the water at an only slightly warm temperature as, even with the coolness of the house he still needed to lower his body temperature. After a few minutes just soaking, he finally began to get clean. _Gilderoy Lockheart's Amazing Hair Cleanser_ was used for his hair with only a slight frown, and the _Special Glowing Skin Body Wash_ by the same man left Harry feeling somehow disgusted at the type of person he could be to actually buy something from Lockheart.

When he felt himself done, he vowed he'd have to go and buy some better supplies so he could throw those out. Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off and made his way to the sink. Opening the vanity, he pulled out _Gilderoy Lockheart's Teeth Whitening Cleanser_ and began to clean his teeth. When finished, he used the vanity to inspect himself and was surprised that his teeth actually were whiter. As he moved to look at his hair, he saw something behind him that nearly caused him to pass out.

"Malfoy!" he shouted angrily, quickly wrapping the towel around his waist and glaring angrily at the white-blond sitting on his bed.

"What Potter? Didn't you mean to put on a show? It was rather good, you know. Nice arse. I'll give it a nine."

Harry blushed from head to stomach and felt awkward in just a towel. Put off at this feeling of inadequacy, he rushed to his wardrobe and found some clothes, retreating to the bathroom to dress with the door firmly latched.

Emerging fully dressed, Harry found Malfoy holding the computer mouse up to his mouth and trying to say something to it. He would have laughed if he weren't so angry.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Oh, Harry," he said, turning around and casually dropping the mouse back on the desk.

"'Harry'?"

"Well I can't keep referring to you as 'Potter', can I? You are my boyfriend."

"I am _not_ your boyfriend, Malfoy."

"Whatever," he said dismissively.

"Now what are you doing here?"

"I told you; I want to go home. Sometimes you really are thick, you know that?"

"And just what makes you think I would be able to help you go home, even if I did want to?"

"Don't make me say it, Potter," Malfoy sneered. He was dressed in the same impeccable clothing that Harry was used to, most of it black with the exception of an orange and green football jersey that featured the logo of a muggle team that Harry suspected this universe's Malfoy might have sponsored.

"I won't help you," Harry insisted, crossing his arms and wishing with all his might that Malfoy would just go away.

Instead of going away, Malfoy spent the next several hours following Harry's every move, complaining about his mum being "all huggy," and how annoying it was this everyone seemed to think they made a good couple. On that, Harry could readily agree. Even in this world they didn't seem to get on well enough to be boyfriends.

"You must be _great_ in bed," Malfoy mused. Harry simply groaned and rolled his eyes. "I just can't think of any other reason to keep you around."

"Does your father know you're gay?"

"My father's dead," he said with a clipped, threatening growl.

Harry meant to continue it, but realizing just how evil the line of insult was, Harry dropped it. Instead, he jumped to a new topic. "I need to owl Ron."

"The Weasel? What the bloody hell for?"

"I want a game of Quidditch," Harry replied flatly.

"_Quidditch_? Now? But we have to get home!"

"I am home." And as he was leaving his room to find an owl, Harry realized he'd forgotten the one person who had mattered the most to him; Sirius. "No, scratch that, I need to owl Sirius."

"Sirius Black? Oh sod it all, Potter. You're hopeless."

* * *

"I've read every book I can find, Draco. There simply doesn't seem to be a way to do what you're trying to do."

"Listen Granger, this is _magic_ we're talking about. Of _course_ there's a way, but it won't be in your silly little Gryffindor books. You have to check the _Restricted Sections_." Draco sighed over-dramatically, his eyes rolling in what Hermione only guessed was a muscle memory.

"I have checked, Draco. No one seems to know how to actually transpose a person from one time to a time beyond that of their own lifespan. You're trying to go back too far!"

"I have to go back that far."

"Why? How will that save Harry?"

"Because it's when it all started. If I can stop Riddle from becoming Voldemort, there will never have been a reason for Harry to die."

"You're crazy," she said bluntly. "You have no idea how that could affect the rest of the universe. I'm not just talking about here, in Britain, or even just on earth, Draco. What you're doing could affect _everything in the universe_."

"I don't care," he admitted, pulling at his hair and then thinking twice of it, rubbing the oils off on his clothes. "Right now I do care that I'm in desperate need of a bath, however." He stood and moved off, extracting his wand and pointing it in front of him. Hermione knew it was relaying information to him, but still wondered at just how well it worked.

Sighing at what she'd gotten herself into, she pulled her mobile out of her bag and dialed up one of the only people she knew who might be able to help in this situation.

"Hullo?"

"Blaise? I need you to come to Draco's immediately."

"Draco? Are you insane? He'd have me eaten by his Quintaped for sure!"

"Draco doesn't have a Quintaped, Blaise. Even the Ministry hasn't been able to capture one; how do you think Malfoy achieved it?"

"He has, Hermione. Don't mess with him."

"Oh shut up, you stupid Slytherin. Get over here or I'll find you and we'll see whose worse to deal with." She hung up the phone with a sniff and stuffed it forcibly back into her bag. No one had ever resisted her with that tone of voice, except for Ron and Harry. She knew Blaise would be here as quickly as he could.

As if on queue, she heard the door bell and meandered into the foyer. The elf who appeared to answer the door disappeared as quickly as it could when Blaise forced his way inside.

"This had better be good." His appearance and smell indicated that he'd been rather busy when she'd called, and a blush crept up her neck at the idea. Blaise, sensing her discomfort quickly pulled out his wand and cast cleansing charms when she turned to go back into the study. Now red-faced, he sat opposite her and looked around nervously. "Where is he?"

"Taking a bath. How's your wife?" He reddened further. "Oh, well how is Justin then?"

"Fine," he mumbled, looking away.

Satisfied he was thoroughly debased, she continued. "Malfoy is planning on going back and changing history. He thinks it – "

"**What**?" Blaise looked scandalized, his face the portrait of shock.

"Just listen, Zabini. He could come back at any moment." She shifted in her chair, wishing that she hadn't allowed herself to get caught up in all of this. If it weren't for Harry, she wouldn't have. "What he wants to do is believed impossible. It's going to take a lot of research and magic to accomplish, but I believe he may have the right idea."

"And I thought you said it was wrong," Malfoy drawled, standing in the doorway toweling his hair. Hermione looked flustered and Blaise seemed ready to bolt at the slightest indication that Malfoy was upset with him. "What about all that nonsense about affecting the universe?"

Hermione simply blanched and avoided his gaze, forgetting that his gaze wasn't worth anything.

"Zabini," Malfoy said, his tone suddenly icy. "I thought I told you that I never wished to see you again."

"I—"

"Oh shut up. I can't see you, so what's the harm?" For a moment the two of them sat in stunned silence. Had Draco Malfoy just made a joke? "Now, with two of the brightest magical minds in the world at my wandtip, I'm bound to succeed. Let's get to work!"


	6. Chapter Five: Sirius

**Chapter Five  
**_Sirius_

* * *

"Dad?"

"Yeah Harry?"

"Where's Sirius?" Harry's father pulled down his paper, which he'd been reading at the kitchen table whilst Lily was making lunch. Saturdays at the Potters' seemed to be rather relaxing, and Harry had a sudden hitch in his chest at the thought.

"I suppose he's probably home with Remus. I think it's a full out tradition that all Marauders relax on Saturdays." His father had a smile that seemed filled with memory and Harry's heart was just a little over-full at the idea. "Oh, home in his flat in London, that is," James added, realizing that Harry wouldn't know this.

"He doesn't live in Grimmauld Place?"

"Are you serious? He would never live there. I believe he's sold it, last I'd heard."

Harry gave a warm smile and made his father write down the address. When he'd accomplished this, he turned to make for the front door when Malfoy came down the stairs.

"I'm going with you, Potter."

"The hell you are!" Harry was getting a little bit more than tired of Malfoy's near constant presence in his life. Maybe the Malfoy of this world was a little bit easier to handle, but his own Malfoy was a brat, petty and annoying and certainly not someone Harry would choose to spend time with. Hadn't, actually, as he came to remember it.

"I most certainly am. I'm your boyfriend, after all, so pay some attention to me."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy! _You are not my boyfriend_! Don't you understand? Even if I _did_ like boys, _you_ would not be one of them!"

"So now you're claiming you don't like boys then? Well that's interesting."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come off it, Potter! When have you ever shown the slightest interest in any girl?"

"There was Cho," Harry said petulantly, suddenly devoid of memories of sexual interests.

"The Oriental girl? Oh please. She fawned over you for ages and you ignored her and made crude attempts to embarrass her. How, exactly, is that liking her?"

"I did not try to embarrass her! It was… an accident."

"Surely she's not the only one. You're a teenaged boy, Potter. Can you honestly say there was never _one_ other that you were interested in?"

Harry thought about it, hard, and tried to think of someone. "I was busy," he said shortly. "Saving the… Stopping Voldemort."

"That's no excuse. You're a teenager. If you were straight, you'd have been all over the girls. Every girl in your year wanted to shag you before you were fourteen, and here you are seventeen and a virgin? Potter, you're _gay_. Deal with it."

"Shut up, Malfoy! Even if I am – gay – that doesn't mean I'm going to fall in… have… or think… Eurgh! I _hate_ you!" Harry's sister was smirking at the top of the stairs and he suddenly disliked her – a lot. "And no comments from _you_," he added to her, pointing to prove the point. She just raised her arms in an innocent gesture that seemed more like a devious call of, 'until later' and wandered off to her room. "And you're not coming with me," Harry repeated to Malfoy for emphasis.

"Am."

"Not."

"So."

"NOT."

"Are."

"Malfoy!"

"Potter!"

"You're so bloody childish!"

"Yes, well, if I get my way…"

"You are not coming."

This argument continued all the way to the underground, which Harry had hoped would turn Malfoy away. Unfortunately, all he did was complain about it the whole time.

"Muggles are so… messy. Look at this place, Potter? Why don't they banish the trash instead of leaving it around? It's _filthy_?'

"Muggles can't banish trash, Malfoy. They're muggles."

"Oh yes, that's right. They're the ones who infest our world with trash and pollution and cause horrible effects on the ecosystem, going so far as dumping loads of oil into the oceans and then bitching when their drinking water comes out black." Malfoy extracted his wand and began incinerating pieces of trash at random, to the utter dismay of a poor woman and her infant son who had been sitting listening to the two lunatic men with a slight laugh until now.

"MALFOY!" Harry pulled out his own wand and quickly cast a memory charm on her and grabbed Malfoy's wand. Looking outraged, the blond sneered at him and sulked next to the door. He refused to sit and was probably more distraught that Harry had taken the wand before he could cast a good 'scourgify' than he was that Harry had stopped him from eliminating litter.

"That's not fair, Potter," he said sulkily, regarding Harry sitting in a seat with utter disdain. "It's not like anyone would _believe_ her," he added.

"Malfoy," Harry started calmly. "You are getting on my last nerve. I will hex you into a puddle so disfigured that it will take the Reversal squad nearly a year to reverse if you don't stop _whining_ and leave it!"

Malfoy crossed his arms, crossly, and stared at Harry with a very cross expression. He was cross, you see. With Harry. And very much annoyed about it. Which was another way of saying he was cross.

When they finally arrived at the correct station, Harry ignored Malfoy completely and began walking without waiting. He knew it was unfair to try and lose the git in muggle territory without even his wand for assistance, but it had been the stupid Slytherin's own decision to come along, against Harry's wishes. He wasn't about to slow down now.

Regarding the paper his father had written out for him, he followed the directions until he came to a four-story brick building that looked, from the outside, like an empty, abandoned place. Not all that surprised that muggles were walking by it with only the occasional glimpse, Harry made for the door. According to direction, he nearly had to ask the door for the occupant he wished to see and it would put him in contact with them. It was a very modern Wizard apartment building.

"Sirius Black," Harry said uncertainly.

After a slight pause, a muffled, tired sounding voice came out of nowhere. "Who's it?"

"It's Harry," he answered, his chest feeling quite constricted suddenly.

"And Draco," Malfoy added. Harry's constriction turned to hatred as he nearly turned and slapped the frail-looking boy across the face.

"Oh excellent!" Sirius didn't seem to mind Malfoy being there at all, which only served to make Harry that much more annoyed. "Come right in!"

Harry figured it must work just like St. Mungo's, so he simply walked forward and only put his arm out to make sure he didn't end up with a nasty bruise. When he melted through the blocked-off door and ended up in a very lavishly decorated lobby, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. This, he mused, was a far cry from 12 Grimmauld Place.

The marble floors looked as though house-elves spent all day spit polishing them and Harry nearly expected to see one come crawling across the floor with a rag. The brass chandelier, ornately decorated with crystal and flickering bits of candle, hung so impressively from its holder, which appeared to be nearly three of the four-stories high. The lobby was so ornate that Harry almost felt as if he'd stepped into first-class by accident and someone would be by quickly to usher him back behind the curtain.

Curtains were remarkably like veils, however, and he felt a sudden need to get to the fourth-four as quickly as possible. He didn't even comment as he made it to the lift, ready to close the door abruptly in Malfoy's face only to find the sneaky git had already wormed his way inside. With a disgusted grunt, Harry slammed the grate shut and pressed the wooden button marked '4'.

"Dear Merlin," Draco exclaimed as the lift began moving. "What is this contraption you've encaged me in?"

"It's a lift," Harry said shortly. "They have them at the Ministry," he added for good measure.

"Surely they don't?" Harry didn't respond. "Well, that's simply … barbaric. I can only imagine which muggle-loving sod introduced _these_ into Wizard architecture. What's wrong with simply apparating?"

"What about those who can't apparate?"

"The Ministry of Magic is hardly the place for _muggles_," Draco said snottily.

"Children, Malfoy."

"Oh, yes, well."

Satisfied the conversation was over, Harry concentrated on the reunion between him and Sirius. As excited as he was, he knew that this Sirius hadn't a clue what had happened and probably wouldn't understand quite as well as his own might have. With a little apprehension, Harry stepped off into the landing and made his way to the penthouse door, the only one on this floor, which had a knocker the size of a shrunken head.

"Harry!" The knocker said enthusiastically, nearly causing Harry and Malfoy to fall back into the lift. It beamed at him and opened the door, much to the chagrin of the black-haired boy. Sirius was just inside, rushing out in a flurry of robes and smiles and engulfing the two boys in a very ferocious hug. Harry would have fallen into it completely but Malfoy was captured in it as well and using the situation to cop feels of Harry's arse, which was something he was rather annoyed about. Harry felt obligated to kick Malfoy very hard in the shin.

"Are you two fighting again?" Sirius asked with a paternal mock-frown. "I swear the pair of you are worse than Moony and I around a full-moon." He smiled genuinely then and lead them into the flat. Harry's mouth nearly fell open as he looked around at the completely posh pad that his godfather now inhabited. He'd known Sirius's family had been wealthy, and had even inherited it himself back home, but he'd never looked at it nor any of the numbers as they hadn't mattered.

He stopped looking at the flat though and took in Sirius. Not only did he look nearly twenty years younger than the Sirius Harry remembered, he also looked like a man who had never had a hard day in his life. Even in this world Harry knew Sirius must have still rebelled against his family in order for the Marauders to exist, Sirius to be living with Professor Lupin and to not be a dark wizard, but at the same time it didn't show on his face. It was such a contrast that Harry suddenly felt homesick, and was disgusted to feel anything like it. Just for it, he gave Malfoy a nasty sneer and turned away before it was returned.

"To what do we owe the pleasure? I thought you two were off on a grand adventure for the summer?"

"We were?" Malfoy looked completely surprised and suddenly excited. "Well we should go then!"

Harry nearly growled. "Sirius, I have to talk to you about something." Harry gave Malfoy a pointed look, which was unaccepted or misunderstood. "In _private_," he said finally.

"What? Am I supposed to just disapparate? You still have my wand you know."

Harry merely rolled his eyes. "Which I wouldn't have if you could control yourself in public!" Harry pulled it out and handed it over, slightly reluctantly.

"They're just muggles," Malfoy said bitterly. "Not like it matters."

"Remus is out on the patio if you'd like, Draco," Sirius said, obviously ignoring the banter he was so used to.

"Professor Lupin? I should think – "

"Professor?" Sirius looked completely confused.

"It's part of what I need to discuss with you. Malfoy, just _leave_."

"Fine, I'll fellytone you later, then."

"_Telephone_," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, well." And with a slight pop, Malfoy was gone.

"Something is wrong," Sirius announced, grabbing up a tea tray that had been laying on the coffee table. "Let's go into your room and talk."

"My room?"

"We always talk there," Sirius said with only a slight concern in his features.

Harry followed him down a hallway lined with portraits and photos, most of them of family events including Harry and his parents and sister. He found one, a picture of Sirius and Remus at what appeared to be their wedding ceremony and stopped to look at it. The two of them looked so happy that it nearly broke Harry's heart to think of the two of them as reality would have had it. This was all so good, how could it be true?

When he finally entered 'his' room, he was shocked to find the most amazing room he'd ever seen. Since it was a wizard's apartment, there were no muggle electric devices anywhere, but otherwise it was about as cool as any room Harry had ever been in. It was loaded with all the comforts of the Gryffindor common room, including a large fireplace that was surrounded by red velvet armchairs and a large, luxurious carpet. The bed was king sized, enough to fit everyone in his dorm without having to touch, and loaded with pillows and comforters so glitzy looking Harry wondered how he ever slept in them. The walls were adorned with more posters of Quidditch teams, wizard bands and even a picture of the entire Gryffindor house standing in front of Hogwarts. It was amazing. Harry closed his mouth and drooped into a chair opposite Sirius, who had sat sideways in his own with his legs swooping lazily over the arm.

"So what's the big issue?" he asked contentedly, seemingly assured it was to do with the latest lovers quarrel between Harry and Malfoy.

"Well, something odd happened the other day and it seems Malfoy and I were – " Harry stopped, unsure how to go about this. "Well you see, I got this ring…"

"Oh HARRY!" Sirius jumped up and moved over to him, grabbing his arm up like a woman just dying to see someone's engagement ring. It only took Harry a few moments to realize Sirius thought that's just what he was doing. "It's … Interesting," he said after a moment. "I would have expected a diamond or something."

Harry yanked his hand back exasperatedly. "It's _not_ an engagement ring!"

"Oh." He looked dejected, but sat back down and went about arranging the tea. "I simply thought it was the most logical thing, what with you talking about rings." Sirius was positively pouting and Harry was so shocked he almost didn't know how to go on. This was definitely not the Sirius he was used to.

"I'm sorry, but it's just that I'm not _gay_ and I don't like – "

"You're not what?"

"I'm not – "

"Now Harry, that isn't funny."

"But – "

"No. I will not let my godson toy with another boy's affections like that. Draco simply adores you and has for ages. You've had your fights, but that is no reason to go about deciding to change your sexual orientation."

"But, Sirius if you'd just – "

"I'll hear nothing more of it. You make up with him at once." Sirius had made a cup of tea for him and was holding it out, his expression grave and set. "Now, did you catch the Cannons last week? Can you believe what Newcombe is up to these days? That feint! It's the most ingenious thing I've ever seen!"

"Sirius _please_!" Harry said desperately. "I have to explain!" When his godfather merely closed his mouth, gained a flat-face and nodded, Harry went on. "It's not that I'm toying with Malfoy, Sirius. I've never been gay. You see," he said quickly, cutting the man off before he could protest further. "I'm not the same Harry!"

"Not the same? How do you mean?"

"Well, _this_," he said, pointing around him. "All of this is different. Where I come from, or, when I come from, or whatever – You were in Azkaban for murder for – "

"_Murder_? Who would I murder?"

"Well you see, they thought you'd murdered Pettigrew and a bunch of muggles, but as it turns out it was actually Pettigrew who did the murder and faked his own to frame you after he'd gotten my parents killed." Sirius gave Harry a very odd expression, as if he'd suddenly grown two extra heads and the others were shouting out sonnets of love of armchairs. "It's true! This ring is why I remember. You see, Malfoy, in the future, apparently went back in time and … "

Harry explained everything, watching as Sirius took it all in with something quite like disdain and fear. He knew that Sirius didn't fully believe him, but he told him anyway. When he finished, he added, "You can owl my father and he'll confirm it. Even Malfoy will tell you!" Sirius continued to look doubtful, but Harry had nothing further to offer.

"I will definitely be speaking with your parents," he said finally. "As a matter of fact, maybe we should all go to your house right now." Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes, something he'd only ever done around Malfoy, and followed as Sirius led him to the patio to fetch Professor Lupin. Without even explaining, Lupin accompanied them as they all apparated to the Potter house.

After nearly an hour of discussion, Harry was tired of talking about it. He'd skipped lunch and was quite hungry, so his mum gave him a plate of sandwiches and sent him up to his room to have a nap. Normally he might have contested this, but he felt like it was a good idea. His body didn't, so instead he found himself cleaning up and organizing everything. As he was going through his desk drawers, he found something he'd never thought he'd see; a love letter to Draco Malfoy, written by him. Enclosed with it was a drawing that Harry had apparently done of Malfoy recently, showing Malfoy stretched out on a field wearing only trousers and looking languid. Harry grunted and threw the drawing aside, morbid curiosity causing him to peruse the letter.

_"My Dearest Draco,_

_I know I've only just seen you today, but after what we've done I felt I had to write you to tell you just how beautiful I think you are. And to show you, I even drew this of you from memory so you could see how you look in my eyes."_

It was all Harry could read before he felt slightly sick. He knew it wasn't that Malfoy was a boy, as he'd thought earlier, but simply that it was Malfoy. Harry had never really thought about boys or girls much; he was usually too busy. Honestly he didn't know, nor did he care if he were gay or not. Since his parents thought he was, obviously it wouldn't matter. It was something to worry about another day.

Tossing the letter back into the drawer along with the drawing, he quickly closed it and pretended he'd never seen the damning parchment that implied he'd done terribly intimate things with the slimy blond git.

With that, a nap suddenly felt like a good release.

"Harry! Telephone!"

He awoke slowly, the late afternoon light streaming through his window wasn't nearly as direct as the morning light, so he felt a little less pummeled, but was still groggy enough to be annoyed at having to wake up. With a little effort, Harry managed to make his way down to the phone and had it at his ear before he realized it could be Malfoy again.

"Hello? Harry?" The voice was too normal to be Malfoy, so Harry let loose a sigh and smiled. It was none other than –

"Ron!"

"Yeah mate, good to hear your voice too. Man, I'm tellin' ya, Ginny was all in a twist when she got back the other day. I thought you were supposed to be in Paris for the summer?"

"Bit of a change of plans," Harry said with only all the irony lost on Ron. He suddenly wondered just when he and Malfoy were supposed to have left for this trip anyway.

"Well that's brilliant. Maybe you could come down here for a week end or something. Mum's dying to see ya." Harry could just picture Ron's freckled face and he was so happy to have his best mate to talk to. "Hermione's been here nearly every day, so maybe you and Draco could come along with us on a double or something."

Harry groaned. "Please don't mention him."

"Oh man, are you two at it again?" He could just picture Ron shaking his head. "Honestly mate, you need counseling. You're the worst couple I've ever met. Mum knows a good witch in Hogsmeade who'd be willing to have a chat with you. She's suggested it a number of times."

"It's not that – we're… not together."

"You broke it off? Harry you love him! You were just telling me the other week…"

"No, I don't love him."

"But – "

"Leave it. I don't."

"Alright, whatever you say. _Hey Ginny! Harry broke it off with Malfoy!_ She wants to talk to you now."

"Harry! Is it true?"

Harry was a bit taken aback, but he answered, "Yeah," anyway.

"Are you sure this time? It's not like you've not done it before."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said with certainty.

"Excellent! I can have my go at him!"

Harry balked. "What?"

"Oh c'mon, Harry! You know I've fancied him for ages!"

"Oh, right, sure." She was laughing now. "What's so funny?"

"I'm only teasing you, git. _Ron! Leave it!_"

"_Gerrof! _Sorry 'bout that. She's a bit annoying, that one." Harry could hear more struggling as the phone was apparently fought over, and then suddenly Mrs. Weasley's voice came in and silenced the rest of them. "_What the devil is going on here? You put that fellytone down right now, Ginerva Weasley!_ Harry dear? Ron will have to talk to you later. I'm afraid he's going to be busy with chores for a while."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said with only a slight laugh. Harry hung the phone up and made his way to the living room, where Sarah was only just jumping into a chair and trying to look as though she'd been there all afternoon. "You were listening."

"You were yelling," she admonished. "It's not my fault if I were in the next room and happened to overhear you." She looked annoyed, but softened a little and asked; "Did you really break it off with him?"

"That's just it, there wasn't anything to break off. He isn't my boyfriend where I come from."

She looked pensive for a few minutes, obviously not sure how to phrase her next question. For a moment, Harry forgot he was looking into the eyes of a fifteen-year-old as she looked so much like his mother with the exception of her hazel eyes. She was obviously very intelligent and well beyond her years.

"I know you're supposed to come from this other place where everything happened differently, but mum and dad wouldn't tell me exactly what happened. Will you tell me?"

"It's a bit scary, I suppose," he said nervously. How do you tell someone they don't exist? Or, well, didn't? Do. Now. Maybe. It was all so confusing, so Harry stumbled with it for a few minutes trying to organize his thoughts. He eventually decided to forego trying to get the correct use of grammar involved and just started.

"You see there was this man, called Tom Riddle, and he married a witch. I don't know her name, but she was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, that we do know. Anyway, she became pregnant and had his baby, but she died in the process and he disowned her and his son before this, leaving the baby to be raised in a muggle orphanage." Sarah screwed up her face and shuddered, as if the thought was so revolting it hurt her. Harry continued the story up to the part where he was born, and then he started to have second thoughts. "I don't know if I should tell you all this," he said nervously.

"Oh c'mon! It's not like it doesn't concern me! You're my brother and they're my parents too!" She looked very upset, tired of being thought of as a little girl and obviously struggling with it every day. Harry could see she was intelligent and felt obligated to continue, despite his concerns.

"Fine, fine," he acquiesced. "There was a prophecy involved that proclaimed that a baby born on my birthday would kill Voldemort, and only one other baby was born that day; Neville Longbottom."

"Neville? He's adorable," she added, seemingly expecting Harry to agree. When he didn't, she just gave him a look and waited for him to continue.

"Right, well, anyway, Voldemort thought it was me who was the problem so he decided to have me killed. Mum and dad wanted Sirius to be the secret-keeper, but he thought it was too obvious so he made them choose Pettigrew."

"Oh Peter!" Sarah said happily. "He's such a nice man."

Harry made a face and said, "Well, not where I come from. See, he was working for Voldemort, and he was the one who told him where to find us." Sarah's face dropped. "Voldemort killed dad, and then mum when she wouldn't move out of the way so he could kill me." Sarah looked distraught, but not terribly so; more like a woman who was hearing a story written about an event she hoped would never come to pass. Better than Harry thought she would have taken it, so he continued. "She died to save me, and apparently that's why Voldemort couldn't kill me. Instead, I only got this scar and some of his power."

"So the Minister of Magic is an evil Dark Lord who killed our parents?"

"Well as I've said, he wasn't minister in my world."

Sarah looked thoughtful for a minute and then said, "Wait! If they died when you were a baby, then I – "

"Wasn't born," they finished together. Harry gave her a sad look and she returned it.

"So you didn't even know me?" He shook his head. "That's horrible. I mean, I know sometimes I wish you'd just go away, but usually only when you're being a terrible prat. Even then I don't _really_ want you gone."

"Well, if it helps, I think I'd like you as a sister."

"Well, I am now, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I suppose you are." Harry was smiling as the realization finally hit him. This _was_ his sister. He had a sister!

"Well then, take my advice; don't break it off with Draco."

Harry frowned.

"What is it with all of you wanting me with that git? Where I come from, he's insufferable and annoying!"

"Well he is here, too, but you get along so well." She made a mocking face that pointed out that she was making fun of him and he threw a very handy pillow at her. She giggled and threw it back, causing him to smile.

"I don't even think I'm gay, Sarah," he said more soberly.

"Well, don't you know?"

"Not really," he admitted. "It's not like I've had a lot of time to think about it." He started to now, though. "I had a crush on this girl Cho in fourth year, and we tried to sort it out in fifth after… Well, after Cedric, her boyfriend was killed." Sarah looked enthralled, completely caught up in Harry's rambling. "That turned out to be a great big mess, though. I've just not had time to deal with girls since."

"But don't you ever think about them? You know, when you're…" Sarah looked a little upset thinking about her brother doing anything sexual, but she rolled her hands around suggestively anyway, hoping she wouldn't have to say it.

Harry blushed. "Er, that's not really something I… That is to say…"

"_Harry_," she said with frustration. "I'm fifteen; I know all about what you boys get up to with the curtains pulled." Harry blushed again, and she just laughed at him.

"Well, honestly that is kind of personal."

"You're trying to figure out if you're gay. How much more personal can you be?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know." He lolled his head back against the chair, defeated. He was happy to be here and have everything so normal, and even happy that his worst problem right now be whether he was gay or not, but at the same time he was tired of everyone trying to force him to love Malfoy. "I do know that Malfoy is the same here as he was there; the same horrible, sniveling little brat who serves the Dark Lord and fancies himself my enemy. Or, at least he did until the other day."

"When he came here, you mean?"

"Yeah, and now suddenly he's okay with us being boyfriends." Harry had an epiphany. "I know why! It's because he thinks I can get him home!" Relief flooded him. Malfoy wasn't gay! He just wanted to use Harry to get back to the world where everything was going _his_ way. Having solved that riddle, which fit better into his perspective of things, he felt himself relax for the first time in days.

"That sounds so … Slytherin," Sarah said doubtfully.

"Well, he is a Slytherin," Harry said. "He was horrified to find out he's a Hufflepuff here." Harry laughed. The idea of Malfoy being a Hufflepuff was somewhat funny, and suddenly he was actually looking forward to seeing Malfoy just so he could tease him incessantly.

* * *

"This is taking _far_ too long," Draco announced, his voice ragged from the lack of sleep.

"Well you didn't expect it to be done overnight, did you?" Hermione was tired as well, and a bit sick of listening to Draco whine. She rubbed the back of her neck to try and get the kinks out and was only slightly alarmed when Blaise came over and began to massage her shoulders and neck for her. It wasn't often that she felt anyone else touching her, but knowing he was gay made her feel a little better.

"No, not overnight, but it's been _weeks_." Draco was currently pacing, which Hermione had been surprised he could do considering. The surprise had worn off after the first hour, and that was nearly three days ago. "Can't you two stop flirting and get on with it?"

"Draco! I am not flirting," Zabini said with a hint of maliciousness in his voice. Draco cocked an eyebrow at them and continued to pace. "Besides which it's getting harder to get more books out from the library when the Ministry is already watching us."

"Sod the Ministry," Draco said forcefully. "Once we do this, it won't matter anymore. They should be grateful! I'm trying to save the whole world here!"

"You're doing no such thing, Draco. Don't play at being selfless; it doesn't suit you." Hermione sighed and brushed Blaise's hands away, contented to continue with her book. And that's when she saw it; the spell they needed. "I've found it!"


End file.
